


A Second Ago Silhouettes

by shihadchick



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-17
Updated: 2016-06-17
Packaged: 2018-07-15 15:25:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7227931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shihadchick/pseuds/shihadchick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn’t that Brandon could tell the exact moment that Seth Jones stepped into the locker room at Nationwide; he wasn’t looking at his watch or at the clock on the wall, he wasn’t even looking toward the door. He’d been changing just like usual, just like any other day, trying not to dwell on the faint but clearly discernible tension running through the room as a result of the trade, waiting to see how everything would shake out with Joey gone and Jones—Jonesy, Brandon figures, if he’s remembering games against the Preds well enough—coming in.</p><p>The way Will tells it later, to some of the wide-eyed and less jaded kids up from Cleveland, is that Jonesy walked in and Saader lit up.</p><p>The problem was that he meant it entirely literally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Second Ago Silhouettes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Broadripple](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Broadripple/gifts).



> With many thanks to C, who said "I just misread bioluminescence as bro-luminescence" and very kindly let me run with the notion. Title inspired by a quote from Adi Alsaid.
> 
> This, uh, got away from me a little, in the time frame; it's when they first met--and a little bit after.

  
It wasn’t that Brandon could tell the exact moment that Seth Jones stepped into the locker room at Nationwide; he wasn’t looking at his watch or at the clock on the wall, he wasn’t even looking toward the door. He’d been changing just like usual, just like any other day, trying not to dwell on the faint but clearly discernible tension running through the room as a result of the trade, waiting to see how everything would shake out with Joey gone and Jones—Jonesy, Brandon figures, if he’s remembering games against the Preds well enough—coming in.  
  
The way Will tells it later, to some of the wide-eyed and less jaded kids up from Cleveland, is that Jonesy walked in and Saader lit up.  
  
The problem was that he meant it entirely literally.  
  
* * *  
  
It’s not the first time Brandon’s been in close proximity to Seth Jones, not by a long shot. Sure, they’d missed each other in the NTDP, and hadn’t overlapped in Junior either, but Brandon figures he must’ve played the Preds a good ten to fifteen times over the last few years. They certainly saw enough of each other in the playoffs a few months back.  
  
But when Brandon stops to think about it—a day or two later, in the privacy of his own house, with no one around to distract him—he’s pretty sure that every time they’ve been within fifty feet of each other it’s been out on the ice, and everyone knows the lights in the arenas are tuned to wash out compatibility aura.  
  
Compatibility isn’t cheating, or at least not according to the CBA it isn’t, which is why some teams will try to deliberately set up d-pairs and forward lines with a positive collective compatibility, and others try to avoid picking up anyone who’s sparked with a guy on another team. It’s a weird quirk, a trick of biology that only affects a small portion of the population anyway, and there’s no way of telling without empirical testing whether someone’ll click with one person and no one else, or whether they’ll light up like a Christmas tree with half the team.

Not that the Teemu Effect has really been seen for anyone else since, although there’s always been rumors about Thornton in San Jose.  
  
* * *  
  
“So, this ever happen to you before?” Brandon joked, trying to cover his own faint sense of shock and the discomfiting sensation that he needed to rub his eyes, or blink more, or do something to get the shimmer of the aura out of the corners of his eyes.  
  
“Uh, yeah,” Jones said, looking down at his hands for a moment. He didn’t seem to be having any problem with the visual effect, Brandon thought with some envy. “Pretty much the whole D corps in Nashville, actually.”  
  
Oh. Well, that sure explains a lot, Brandon thought. It’s not something they’ve made a big deal about, but a lot of people have suggested it over the years.  
  
The front office must have been hoping, when they made the trade, that he’d click like that with Murrs, that they could get their very own hypercompatible d-pair, like Weber and Suter had been, like Keith and Seabrook were. Hell, for all Brandon knew maybe they’d get that too, if Jones was this compatible with more than one person. He glanced over at Ryan, standing off to the side and trying to pretend like he wasn’t blatantly staring at Brandon and Jones like half the room were.  
  
Brandon caught Murray’s eye and raised an eyebrow. He had to be fitting in well enough by then because Ryan clearly had no trouble in reading him, and he just shook his head fractionally, shot Brandon a sympathetic smile.  
  
“So, uh, anyone else getting this?” Brandon asked, looking around the room, and all he got for his trouble was a wave of head shakes, and the buzz of chatter starting up again as everyone else shook off the moment of surprise and got back to whatever conversations they’d been having. It wasn’t like having a compatible pair—or trio—was all that uncommon; Brandon had stopped noticing it with Duncs and Seabs after the first week or so, and he had to assume the same thing would happen for the rest of the Jackets.  
  
Brandon tried not to let himself stare at Jonesy, but it was making his eyes itch, and in some weird way looking directly at him seemed to help. Brandon hadn’t exactly been in this position before. He’d been close enough with teammates over the years that he’d always figured if he was going to be compatible with anyone it’d be them, and when it hadn’t happened he’d just assumed it never would. People in Saginaw had just assumed he and Tro were, even though the rest of the team saw them off the ice enough they should’ve known better.  
  
“You’ll stop noticing it so much pretty quick,” Jones said, relatively quietly, but Brandon didn’t have any trouble picking his words out. “You wanna tell the coaches before practice, or…?”  
  
“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” Brandon said, relieved that at least one of them was keeping his head.  
  
He sneaked another look at Jones, and he was right, the aura effect was dying down already. It’d probably flare up again any time they weren’t under tuned electrical lights, but that initial eye-watering flash was fading off. It was easier to look at Jonesy properly without the distraction, and Brandon found himself spending longer than he probably should doing just that. He was easy enough on the eyes, Brandon had to admit, and  _that_ was near enough to things he absolutely shouldn’t be thinking in the locker room that it shocked him out of the introspection and into moving again.  
  
“Lemme just finish changing,” Brandon said, and turned back to his stall and finishing up the job of getting changed for practice. It probably hadn’t helped that he’d been halfway through doing so when Jonesy had got inside whatever their perimeter was; with his shirt and chest protector both still hanging in front of him there’d been more than enough uncovered skin that he wouldn’t have been able to hide the glow if he’d tried.  
  
“Sure thing,” Jones said, and one of the trainers came in then with an armful of Blue Jackets gear for him to try on and check the fit of, so Brandon resigned himself to having to be the one doing most of the talking. He had very clear memories of how unexpectedly long it had taken him to get fitted up with the right gear. And he’d had a week or two of warning, rather than getting thrown in headfirst with practice a few hours after hopping on a plane and a game ahead of them tomorrow.  
  
Brandon sat down and bent over to tighten his skate laces, and he absolutely didn’t glance up through his eyelashes to see if Jonesy was still glowing.  
  
Well, not for more than a couple of seconds, anyway.  
  
* * *  
  
The coaching staff and front office turned out to be cautiously pleased, which Brandon had to figure was better than “annoyed and planning to trade one of them again”, if not quite so good as “thrilled” would have been. They were going to wind up on the same powerplay unit if nothing else, although given what Brandon remembered about Jones' shot he would have bet on that coming up anyway.  
  
“It’s pretty great,” Jonesy said to Brandon, leaning on the boards next to him while they waited their turn in a shooting drill, towards the end of the practice.  
  
It was nice being out on the big ice, even if things echoed funny with no one in the stands. The main lights were on though, washing out the ice and sending faint shadows on every angle. Brandon was definitely appreciating the fact he could actually look at Jonesy properly out there. He’d never appreciated modern technology enough before then, he figured.  
  
“Hrm?” Brandon asked, dragging his mind back onto the topic at hand.  
  
He couldn’t afford to let himself get distracted. For one thing, he was damn well going to be professional, and for another he didn’t exactly want to give Torts any reason to add anything extra to practice. The fact the Wild had walked all over them in the third the day before yesterday wasn’t exactly helping on that count, either.  
  
Jones shrugged a little, bumped his shoulder companionably into Brandon’s and said, “The compatibility thing. It doesn’t have to be a big deal, just. We’ll find each other easier on the ice, you know. All that kind of thing.”  
  
Brandon didn’t think he was making a big deal about it, but if he was weirding Jonesy out then he should definitely dial it back. If nothing else he needed to stop trying to sneak glances at him. It’s not like that was going to help him figure it out any better.  
  
“You want to grab dinner tonight or something?” Brandon offered.  
  
Maybe he should have left that up to the guys wearing letters, let them play the steady vet, the guy who’s been there and can help Jones settle in faster, but at the same time he thinks maybe he’ll be a better choice anyway. It’s still fresh enough for him that he can remember what was weird, what to tell someone else to look out for, all the little specific things like which door sticks on the way into the practice rink, and how you could never make a left easily into one of the streets near the arena, and how to tell if Matty or Cam were about try and pull some kind of terrible attempt at a prank. Fliggy had definitely stepped up to look after Brandon when he’d been new, and still a little raw from the trade, helping him put a better face on it all.

Brandon was just paying that forward.  
  
If nothing else, being compatible meant that they were almost certainly going to get on well, so why not get a headstart on getting to know each other properly?  
  
“Yeah, that’d be great,” Jonesy said. “I’m just in a hotel down the road, uh, I guess the same one you would’ve been in? Joey apologised for not being able to let me use his place when I gave him keys.”  
  
“I didn’t know you guys knew each other,” Brandon said. “You got him staying in your place in Nashville, huh?”  
  
“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” Jonesy said, with another shrug. “You telling me I should second guess it? Get a security deposit off him?” He grinned at Brandon then, laughing as Brandon opened his mouth to try and dig himself out of that hole. If he was comfortable enough to be making jokes then that was good, he figured.  
  
Brandon wasn’t sure what his face was doing as he had that thought, but Wenny skating past and snickering at him was a pretty good clue that it was doing something, so he yanked his attention back to the drill, just in time to not get caught out and miss his turn.  
  
* * *  
  
The rest of practice went just like normal, and Jonesy had been right; by the time they were all trooping back into the locker room Brandon almost didn’t notice the way everything around him lit up warmer when Jonesy was close enough. They should probably test it later, figure out exactly how close they needed to be to get the flare effect, but Brandon was guessing it was only in close proximity, maybe a couple of feet at the most.  
  
“Hey, that’s settling already,” Hartsy said, after tossing a ball of tape at Brandon’s head to get his attention. “Nice work.”  
  
“Huh?” Brandon said, blinking and not following him. Hartsy could be annoyingly opaque at times, which he claimed was part of his charm, but Brandon suspected he also just plain enjoyed being cryptic to mess with people.  
  
“I don’t want sunglasses indoors anymore,” Hartsy said. “Haven’t seen that much flare in a few years, I’d forgotten what it was like.”  
  
Brandon almost wanted to ask who Hartsy’s talking about, but that’s the sort of thing you shouldn’t push about. For all that it’s common enough that most teams have a couple guys who’ll spark together, or even coaching staff sometimes, people could get kind of weird about it. Compatibility isn’t necessarily mutual, and it’s not even a guarantee that people will work well together—just that, under the right circumstances, they could—but there’s also some ugly jokes at times. Brandon would rather avoid even opening the door for that, if he can.  
  
“Hey, what time sounds good for you later?” Brandon asked, looking over as Jonesy came back out of the showers, towel wrapped loosely around his waist as he sat down in front of his stall.  
  
“Um, whenever I guess?” Jones said, shrugging. “Call when you’re set, maybe?”  
  
“Sounds good,” Brandon said. He had some errands to run, though he had a feeling that instead he’d just be stretching out on the couch thinking for a while. This was not anything he’d been expecting, that was for sure.  
  
He retrieved his phone from his jacket pocket, unlocked it and tossed it over. Jonesy typed his number into Brandon’s phone, and then did something else that Brandon figured was sending a message to his own phone to save the number.  
  
“See you later, then,” Brandon said, turning back to check he’d picked up everything he needed from his own stall. “Uh, you’ve got a ride back to your hotel, right?”  
  
Jones shot him a quick grin, and then let him dangle for a moment before saying, “Yeah, I’m good. Later, Saader—right?”  
  
“Yeah, that works,” Brandon said. “Or Brandon, whatever.” He’s not exactly upset to be leaving the manchild nickname behind him, and so far the guys haven’t pushed it.  
  
“How ‘bout you?” Murray asked, leaning out to look around Boone, and giving him a friendly shove. “Jenns, move your ass. Jones, Jonesy… Joner?”  
  
“Jonesy usually,” Jones said, buttoning his shirt up before looking up to catch Murray’s eye. “But, you know. Whatever works.”  
  
“You bet,” Murray said, and then with a smirk, he added, “Until these guys come up with something worse, anyway.”  
  
Jonesy looked back at Brandon for a moment, and he didn’t need to know how compatible they were to be completely certain he knew what Seth was thinking then, because hockey players really were the same literally everywhere.  
  
“Later, Jonesy, guys,” Brandon said, and made his escape before he got dragged into anything else.  
  
* * *  
  
Dinner was refreshingly normal, basically the same as any meal Brandon had had with a teammate over the years, with the benefit that no one was even looking twice at them. So maybe the whole glow in the dark reaction thing was fading down already, Brandon figured. He should probably have looked some stuff up online rather than napping, but he’d been inexplicably tired when he’d got home from practice. By the end of dinner they were on first name terms, and Brandon had got a few Nashville stories out of Seth that had involved some nicknames easily as questionable—if not more—than any that Brandon would admit to. It probably counted as bonding, and with that in mind he shared a couple of stories from Saginaw that no one but Vince had heard.  
  
It was just-  
  
It was really easy to talk to Seth.  
  
He was just as easy-going and easy to talk to as Brandon’s first impression suggested, although he at least wasn’t nearly as talkative as certain other people Brandon could name. But comparing notes before dinner on the experience of being traded saw them through the wait for their mains, and from there the conversation turned naturally to what there was to do in the city and around Ohio in general. The proximity to both the Cavs and Ohio State football was, Brandon gathered, very much a point in the Blue Jacket's favor.  
  
It was nice, Brandon thought. To have someone around he clicked with that well. He hadn’t exactly been struggling with the Jackets, had plenty of guys he was on good terms with, could talk to, and of course Foligno was always right next door, but—it wasn’t quite the same. His closest friends from before were spread out pretty good all around the league now, and group texts and dumb snapchats could do a lot, but it wasn’t quite the same as being able to be there in person, in having someone who was dealing with the same shitty games and annoying travel and ridiculous delays you were.  
  
Brandon found himself dropping into the seat by Jonesy on the flight back from Toronto, in what had already become their regular seats. Everyone was tense and wound up with the hectic, razor’s edge feel of finally, fucking finally winning one again, and it made it hard to settle, kept the noise level higher than usual all the way through takeoff. The two of them kept up a quiet conversation the whole way back, not even bothering to pull out a pack of cards or try to watch something on an iPad like usual. Hartsy shot them a look right after they’d reached cruising altitude that Brandon didn’t want to make any assumptions about, but was probably something he’d be hearing about later. He decided not to worry about it till then, anyway.  
  
“You want a ride back to your hotel?” Brandon asked, as they were waiting to file down the staircase and off the plane, buttoning his coat up again in deference to the bite in the air, the chill coming off the snow still on the ground.  
  
“Yeah, sure,” Seth said, and Brandon dug his keys out, popped the trunk so they could both toss their bags in there, and threaded his way out of the carpark.  
  
“You figure out what you’re going to do for the rest of the season yet?” Brandon asked. It was a short drive, sure, but not one he wanted to make in total silence, however comfortable.

“Not yet,” Seth said. “I should get an apartment, I guess. After I check the schedule to see when we’ve got enough of a break to look at some places.” He made a face at that, one which perfectly illustrated his feelings on realtors, apartment hunting, and moving in general. Brandon couldn’t blame him, not with vivid memories of his own attempts to look for places in Chicago and Columbus.  
  
Which—  
  
Well, there was an obvious idea right there, and Brandon paused for a moment before speaking, checking in with himself, his gut instinct. His own motives could certainly be questioned, but probably wouldn’t be, not by anyone outside his head, really. And if he was keeping some secrets to himself, even from Jonesy, well. That was only normal.  
  
Still, the solution was right there, and Brandon took a deep breath, resettling his hands at ten and two on the wheel, and taking another quick glance into his mirror to check the traffic around them was still so light as to be virtually nonexistent.  
  
“How would you feel about moving out of the hotel?” Brandon asked, carefully neutral.  
  
Seth slouched in the passenger seat, the line of his seat belt cutting into the smooth lines of his suit jacket, a running indentation from his shoulder to his waist, the contrast easy to make out in the the dim golden glow that they seemed to have settled into over the last few days. No one had dramatically rolled their eyes and grabbed for sunglasses since New York, at least. Clearly thinking of other things, Seth sighed, gaze fixed out the front windshield as if there was anything more than empty roads and a traffic light flashing yellow ahead of them.  
  
“That would be nice,” he said after a long moment, still not moving. He was very, very still; so much so that Brandon got the impression he was holding himself that way, hardly doing more than breathing in and out. “You got another option you’re offering there, Saader?”  
  
“Well, yeah,” Brandon said, and this was easy, actually. This felt like the most simple, inevitable thing in the world, enough that he couldn’t believe he hadn’t suggested it earlier. “There’s like five bedrooms at my place, and it’s just me there, I figured, you know, maybe I’d take in a rookie or something—”  
  
“And I’m the next best thing?” Seth suggested, but with enough of a smile in his voice that Brandon relaxed the rest of the way, confident that it would be okay. Somehow, the car felt warmer, more comfortable on every level.  
  
“Well, yeah.” Brandon said. “Uh, you can cook, right?”  
  
Seth snorted. “Yes, I can.”  
  
“Great, because I can’t so much,” Brandon said. “Want to move in tonight?”  
  
“Shit, I’m still living out of a suitcase,” Seth said, with a philosophical shrug. “Why not?”  
  
* * *  
  
It was the work of less than an hour to collect everything Seth had in Columbus with him so far from the hotel, stuff it into Brandon’s car and drive back to his place.  
  
“You have, like. Furniture and everything right?” Seth asked, stopping cold on the porch with one foot over the tacky welcome mat Brandon had picked up on a whim a few weeks back.  
  
“Um, yeah,” Brandon said. He had _enough_ , although it wasn’t like the house was packed. But there were beds in all the guest rooms, and linen, and couches and a decent sound system. There was just a lot of house when it was just him. Everything that had been in his old apartment seemed so much smaller spread out that much. But Seth would have somewhere to sleep and a dresser to unpack his shit into, and anything else they needed they could just hit up IKEA at some point.  
  
“You mind which room I take?” Seth asked, and Brandon shook his head before he’d even finished speaking.  
  
“Mine’s probably obvious,” Brandon said. “Anything else, go nuts.”  
  
“Great. Thanks, Brandon,” Seth said, and dumped his backpack and suitcase by the couch. “I really appreciate it,” he said, and stepped back toward him.  
  
Brandon was still lurking in the doorway, feeling slightly awkward in his own home again for the first time since he’d finished moving all his stuff in and sat on the kitchen floor for an hour trying not to freak out and reminding himself that he lived there now, and it was going to be fine. It was all going to be fine.  
  
It was all going to be fine, and then Seth hugged him, quick and easy as anything, just bros, even if it was the first time they’d hugged without a bunch of protective gear in the way. Something stuttered in Brandon’s chest, an after-image of deep red flashing behind his eyelids, enough to make him say “Whoa, what?” out loud and pull back.  
  
Seth was looking at him with an equally confused expression, mingled with something that looked vaguely like guilt.  
  
“You saw that too, right?” Brandon asked, weirded out enough that he was definitely considering calling up the team docs to make sure he hadn’t somehow hit his head and forgotten about it if the answer was no.  
  
“Yeah,” Seth said slowly. “I think—” he said, but rather than telling Brandon what he was thinking he reached out, painfully carefully, and threaded his fingers through Brandon’s, squeezing his hand tight, the only place they were touching.  
  
“Um,” Brandon said, staring down at their interlinked fingers, which were warmer than they had any right to be considering Seth had been outdoors in the cold hauling stuff in from the car just as long as he had. And while it was harder to tell in the living room with electric lights on, he was pretty sure that the compatibility aura had flared up again, brighter than it had been in days.  
  
“Something you wanna tell me?” Seth asked, trying to pitch it like a joke, like he was going to laugh it off, but Brandon had never felt less like laughing.  
  
“I don’t think this means we’re just going to be good at playing hockey together,” Brandon said. They were doing okay at that so far, sure, but this felt- bigger. Like something more.  
  
He managed to look up then, and could see that Seth was watching his expression carefully, guarded hope in his eyes, warmth curling through his smile, working its way back through Brandon’s body in turn, suggestive and heated. That was enough to get him to step forward, still not letting go of Seth’s hands.  
  
“Wanna try this, too?” Brandon asked, not even trying to pretend like he was looking anywhere but Seth’s mouth by then. The corners of the room seemed to be getting further away, shadows pooling and shrinking along the edges of the floorboards. Brandon was pretty sure that if they’d had a power cut right then it would still be bright enough to read in there.  
  
“Sounds good to me,” Seth said.  
  
He was as done with drawing that out as Brandon was, it seemed, because he followed that up by ducking his chin just enough to catch Brandon’s mouth with his, pressing their lips together in an easy kiss.  
  
Brandon’s hand tightened on Seth’s automatically, and he tilted his head back for a better angle, wondering dizzily if he’d ever had to do that before; had he done this with anyone taller than him?  
  
Seth’s mouth was soft against his, but insistent, and Brandon let his eyes close, sank into the kiss, revelled in how good and right and inevitable it felt. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about this a little, but it had always been in far in the back of his mind, pushed back by responsibility and requirements, knowing he maybe shouldn’t. Knowing there was no guarantee a pass would be reciprocated. He didn’t need to worry about that, at least, he thought with some satisfaction.  
  
“Guess we’re doing this,” Seth said, pulling back just enough to speak, his forehead pressed against Brandon’s, sharing his air, a promise for more and later.  
  
“I’d like to,” Brandon said, picking honesty and clarity. Maybe later they could worry about all the different ways this could be a problem or go wrong, but right then all he wanted was to do that again, and again, and again.  
  
“It’s so late,” Seth said with a sigh, letting reality into the quiet moment they were sharing at last, not so much puncturing it as just nudging the metaphorical door open, enough of a gap to let the light in and out. “No practice tomorrow, but we should—”  
  
“Get some sleep and not complicate things right now?” Brandon suggested, agreeing, however reluctantly it was. Other things were going to have to come first.  
  
“Yeah,” Seth said. “We can pursue this after actually getting some sleep, right?”  
  
“Mmm, yeah,” Brandon said, and they stood there a moment longer, waiting for someone to actually make the first move. Brandon broke first, that time.

“You can unpack later, right?” Brandon asked. He took a deep breath, and decided that his instincts hadn’t let him down yet before going on. “No expectations, but—my bed’s nicer than any of the guest room ones. We can share, if you want?”

Despite himself, he wavers a little on the end, less certain of his footing there. Is this too fast, is he pushing his luck?  
  
He can feel the shudder that runs through Seth’s frame at that, though; eager and warm, and it’s a rushing pressure that fills him up to bursting, makes him feel light and giddy, because it tastes like a yes.  
  
“We should probably take this slow,” Seth says, which is sensible, because there’s a lot more on the line than just them; the position they’re in with the Jackets if nothing else. “But yeah, sleep sounds great. We’re going to be good, huh?”

There’s a ringing confidence in Seth’s voice that Brandon finds himself nodding along with, even if all he’s going to get tonight is another kiss, maybe.  
  
Yeah, they’re going to be good.  
  
They’re going to be incandescent.


End file.
